Page 79 of Murder on the Brighton Express
I turned to Harmony to give her advice, but she had already realized the implications for her role. “I should be able to catch the suppliers before they leave. I’m sure they’ll agree to a renegotiation if their businesses are mentioned in glowing terms in the city’s most popular society pages.”
“When you’ve done that, pass a list of suppliers to Mrs. Scoop,” I told her.
Harmony smiled. “You look beautiful, by the way.”
I clasped her hand. “Thank you.”
Before Mr. Hobart departed, I asked if I could use his telephone. I placed a call to D.S. Fanning and gave him the address of the flat in Pimlico. On a whim, I tried Harry’s office, too, but he wasn’t there.
The church ceremony was lovely.The happy couple stared into one another’s eyes as they exchanged vows, then beamed as they left the church. I’d been one of the first guests to arrive at the church, so I didn’t notice those who arrived after me.
Seeing Harry on the church steps as I left stopped me in my tracks. He always looked handsome, but there was something particularly alluring when he dressed in a tailcoat. He touched the brim of his hat in greeting but didn’t approach. I kept my distance, too. My uncle would not approve of me chatting to his former employee at a social function. He hadn’t seen Harry yet, but he would if Harry was returning to the hotel for the reception.
Mr. Liddicoat’s polo-playing cousin joined Harry and the two men fell into conversation. Harry must be a guest of Mr. Liddicoat’s, out of gratitude for clearing his cousin’s name recently. I couldn’t imagine Mrs. Hessing inviting a private detective she’d hired to her daughter’s wedding. She was too much of a snob.
Some guests walked back to the hotel, but I climbed into one of the Mayfair’s carriages along with my aunt, uncle and Flossy. Floyd had already returned to the hotel to be there to welcome the wedding guests when they arrived. The journey was short, but everyone was in a good mood. Even my aunt smiled, although it was wan and thin, like her figure. When we alighted from the carriage outside the hotel, she told us she needed to return briefly to her suite. I suspected she would take a dose of her tonic before joining us in the ballroom for the reception.
Uncle Ronald supported her through the front door, held open by Frank. Flossy followed close behind. I smiled at the doorman and was about to engage him in a chat about his favorite topic, the weather, when a figure rushed out of the shadows.
He grabbed my arm and shoved my back against the wall. The breathwhooshedfrom my body, but thankfully I didn’t hit my head.
The face of Jack Wilson filled my vision, lips twisted in a grimace within his unkempt beard. But it was his eyes that frightened me. The pupils were huge, making him look like a wild animal in the grip of a murderous fever. I’d seen eyes like that before, and knew it wasn’t a fever that gripped him. It was cocaine.
Chapter17
Jack Wilson pressed himself against me. Trapped between him and the wall, I doubted anyone even noticed I was there. Had Frank seen him accost me? I didn’t know. All I knew was that Wilson’s hot, stinking breath made me want to throw up.
“Bloody meddling woman. If only you’d leave me be, I could have got what Blaine owed me and disappeared.” He spoke rapidly, his words tumbling over themselves. It only confirmed what I suspected. He was under the control of cocaine, just like Aunt Lilian.
I tried to use my body to push him away, but he didn’t budge. I tried to hit him, but he was too close, and my arms were pinned to my sides. I opened my mouth to scream.
I never got the chance to utter a sound.
Suddenly Wilson was gone, ripped away from me by Harry. Harry swung his fist, but Wilson tore free and ducked. The cocaine gave him unnatural speed and alertness. He punched Harry in the gut before Harry even knew what was coming. He grunted but remained upright and stepped out of Wilson’s reach in case another punch came his way.
Harry realized he couldn’t stop a cocaine-fueled man the size of Jack Wilson. He needed help. But Frank had disappeared, and the other gentlemen in the vicinity were reluctant to assist. Most crossed the street to avoid the scene.
I darted toward the hotel door to get help. Discretion be damned. Mrs. Scoop, waiting inside for the reception to begin, would witness the dreadful scene and write about it in her column, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t let Harry battle Wilson alone.
The door was pushed open from the other side before I reached it. Goliath barreled out. Between the two of them, he and Harry subdued Wilson and marched him away from the hotel. Wilson struggled and shouted, only to suddenly quieten. I suspected either Harry or Goliath had punched him.
As quickly as the scene had erupted into chaos, it was calm again. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. The carriages carrying Mrs. Hessing and her friends, and Mr. Liddicoat and his bride, were arriving.
Frank had emerged from the hotel behind Goliath, holding Harry’s hat. He must have fetched Goliath when Wilson appeared. He handed the hat to me, blew out a rallying breath, and opened the carriage door for the bride and groom.
Following his lead, I drew in a deep breath, too, and let it out slowly, releasing my tension along with it. I tucked the hat behind me and took the hand Mrs. Liddicoat offered.
“Oh, Miss Fox, you do look so lovely in that dress.”
I laughed. “I believe you stole my line.”
I took a step back to admire her in the cream satin wedding gown. It was demure and understated, like the bride herself, with pearls trimming the high chiffon neckline, the ruched sleeves and the edges of her long veil. The skirt and train were embroidered in a leafy pattern I’d not seen before. Perhaps it was from an American plant or was something the dressmaker invented. It looked so elegant, with incredibly fine stitching. Mrs. Scoop’s readership would enjoy learning about this new trend, and the statuesque American who’d captured the heart of an Englishman.
“You are perfection, my dearest Mrs. Liddicoat.”
She giggled. “The name sounds so strange.”
Mrs. Hessing stamped the end of her walking stick on the pavement. “Hurry along, Clare. Your guests are waiting.”
